Vinter Year 502 | Fenrir's haunting howls have ushered in a great and terrible winter. All throughout the valley thick blankets of snow fall and hide away whatever foliage lay beneath. Temperatures plummet throughout the night with gharrish winds that seem to slip through every mortals very bones. Even the Wastelands can feel it, a great chill sweeping up the slopes of the ravine and across the sands during the night. Best to turn your eyes to the Houses for safety if you haven't already, nonpartisans. The lingering dark and shortened days mean nothing but ill for the Valley. It will be a winter to remember, and fight, surely.

OOC News

▶︎12.17.18 Unfortunately due to admin error some of our current templates are a little screwy (primarily in our footer and recent threads). Please bare with us while we sort out the problems and restore Fim back to its true state!

12.01.18 Please welcome our wonderful Papaya to the staff team!

11.24.2018 We're looking for some new hands to join the staff team! Go check out the Staff Auditions! (Read more!)

Outpost Items

OOC & Character(s)

Appearance

The base of her coloring is a rich chestnut-brown that darkens oddly enough to a purple sheen that mildly glows under starlit nights. The chestnut fades a bit the lower it sinks down her legs, matching the hair that falls from her head and tail until it bleeds to white. The socks that adorn her lower legs are the palest white but none follow the typical lines; instead they swirl and surround the lowest part of her legs with an almost flame-like appearance. Each hoof the swirling white meets is a pale peach-ivory imbued with a natural shine. The hair that falls from her is a reddish blonde depending on the light, a true nod to her heritage. From her forehead, an enlarged white flame marking spreads from the base of a single horn the same color as her body. Wrapped around her torso and the base of her neck are a series of amethyst encrusted chains which lead down via a single chain to a matching display atop her tail. Her forehead carries the same jewelry, almost like an amethyst circlet. The stones are an exact replica to the purple coloring each eye. Wrapped around her left rear leg is a curling band of pure silver that spans the length of her cannon. On the front cannons she wears a silver bracelet, each housing another amethyst, but her left leg also bears a bracelet wrapped around her forearm; it contains a larger stone followed by smaller ones down the sides. The tips of her ears are the same white of her other markings.

Personality

Èibhlin is rather brash in nature, her Celtic-Scottish heritage often shining through in the form of her temperament. Unfortunately for those who cross her, she lives up to some of the stereotypes surrounding fiery red-headed lassies despite being on the blonder side of that color scale. To those who greet her with kindness, she returns the favor, but, if you greet her with a sharp tongue and the one she wields against you will strike for the weakest part of you. She cares little for politics and rules, but adheres to her own moral code where others are concerned. Overall, Èibhlin can be counted on as a true friend once the right is earned and will never leave a loved one to fend for themselves unless they’ve thoroughly disgraced themselves. She gives no quarter to those who seek to manipulate others but will happily use her own feminine advantages to secure an improved future for those who need it; scarcely for herself though.

History

Her history is nothing spectacular; she grew up in a small village on the shores of a vast ocean where most of the time it rained. She never knew her parents but was raised by relatives who showered their love and affection on the youngest of their clan; a warmer childhood she can only imagined enhanced by the presence of those who created her. Èibhlin carries no sad tales save one; the day she was exiled from her clan for refusing the arranged marriage her meddlesome aunts surprised her with. Always an independent lass, she immediately and vehemently declined the proposition and was overruled. The clan’s leader accepted the match on her behalf with a stern warning to behave and be happy; her future secure in the arms of a man whose wealth far exceeded their clan’s combined assets. He arrived a mere week after her aunt’s announcement, and pleased with the older mare’s description of their niece’s beauty, accepted the betrothal. That evening was filled with celebration and drink where he presented his soon to be bride with the silver and amethyst jewelry she bears even now.

The leaders of both clans, her uncle and future father in law, agreed the two should be joined within the month to secure their alliance. The thought of wedding a stranger, no matter how handsome the man’s dark features may be, terrified Èibhlin. In the dead of night, she waited until the last ember faded from the fire and crept away into the night.

Her attempt did not succeed.

Her betrothed, Irial, had been keeping a watchful eye on her home aware that his bride may not be as willing as she appeared. He approached her cautiously and quietly inquired as to her plans. When she made it very clear she had no intentions of uniting in a loveless bond with a virtual stranger, he merely inclined his head and agreed. With soft murmurs, he assured her he would hold no ill will towards her and insisted he keep the jewelry to sell; the worth of it sure to keep her comfortable for several years. When she smiled softly at him, he knew he made the right choice to let her go and after a brief peck of lips to cheek, they parted ways.

Despite her best efforts, she remained unable to sell the lovely jewels during her travels; any time she tried, she pictured the gentle look in his amber eyes as he wished her all the best. A selfish piece of her cherished that moment; he did not have to let her go but chose to pursue her happiness over his own and that memory clings to her to this day; three years later.